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 ance with high life, and—and—and something of—of—something d'un vrai goût, to be really sensible of its merit. Those whose—whose connections, and so forth, are not among les gens comme il faut, can feel nothing but ennui at such a place as Ranelagh.

"Ranelagh!" cried Lord, "O, 'tis the divinest place under heaven,—or, indeed,—for aught I know ."

"O you creature!" cried a pretty, but affected young lady, patting him with her fan, "you shan't talk so; I know what you are going to say; but, positively, I won't sit by you, if you're so wicked."

"And how can one sit by you, and be good?" said he, "when only to look at you is enough to make one wicked—or wish to be so?"

"Fie, my Lord!" returned she, "you are really insufferable. I don't think I shall speak to you again these seven years."

"What a metamorphosis," cried Lord Orville, "should you make a patriarch of his Lordship!"

"Seven years!" said he: "dear Madam, be contented with telling me you will not speak to me after seven years, and I will endeavour to submit."

"O, very well, my Lord," answered she, "pray date the end of our speaking